


Dream Each Other's Smile

by angelwing



Category: Phantom of the Paradise (1974)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Recovery, Universe Alteration, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7666246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwing/pseuds/angelwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe alteration where Swan is dead but Winslow and Beef both managed to survive, Winslow is doing his best to recover from the trauma and abuse he was put through. As it turns out, recovery is a long, slow, terrible process, and tonight - during the worst storm of the year - it feels especially impossible. But perhaps with the support of his glittery boyfriend, he can find a way to make it through the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Each Other's Smile

Winslow and Beef had been dating for about eight months.

Swan had been dead for a little over ten months. 

And in those ten months, Winslow had very, very, _very_ slowly begun recovering. And he had begun dating Beef. 

Recovery was a slow process. Winslow was not even sure it was something that was truly achievable. Everything was scary and new, even things that he had done thousands of times before all that had happened. Just leaving the house, being among people, was horrific, and in the ten months since Swan’s death he could probably count the amount of times he had been out in public on two hands. Little things he had not even thought about at the time scared him - the word Thursday sent a little shiver of dread down his spine, records of any kind made him cower instinctively in fear, signing his name made him nauseous. 

Beef tried his best to help. He had been hurt too, by all that had happened, but not to the extent Winslow had. He had come out in one piece, at least. Winslow had come out with metal teeth, an electric voice, and a mask to cover what remained of his charred face - plus six months of his life lost in prison. 

Winslow would not take the mask off in front of Beef. Not even after all of this time. Beef was the best thing that had happened during these long, hard months, these months of very early recovery, and the idea of letting Beef see a part of him so disgusting and horrific and the idea of losing him was unimaginable (on that note, Phoenix had her own struggles to fight through; she too had to come to terms with all that had happened and the frankly traumatic experience that she had undergone, and she was not ready to talk to Winslow. Last he had heard she had left the state to visit her parents, and he was not sure when she would return. And even so, he had decided after some consideration that whatever it was he felt for her was not romantic, although his feelings for her - whatever they were - were still quite strong). 

Tonight was the worst storm of the year. Even when the weather reports predicted it no one had fully believed it; at least, not until the clouds rolled in. Thick, dark, heavy clouds that hung low and ominously in the sky. The rain had begun around eight that night. It was hard rain that tapped incessantly against the roofs of houses and created great puddles in the road. The rain only grew faster and harder and by nine there was the first crack of lightning. 

Now it was ten, and lightning periodically lit up the sky followed by a roar of thunder that shook the house. Rain tapped against the roof ceaselessly. Outside was a chaotic whirl of electricity and booming thunder and howling wind and hard, cold rain. 

Winslow felt like a prisoner in his own home. His heart was slamming against his chest and he felt panicked and trapped. For months now he had struggled with claustrophobia; claustrophobia so bad that he was unable to even step into a closet unless the door was kept wide open and he had to repeatedly jiggle the bathroom door, making sure that it was definitely unlocked and openable from the inside, before feeling comfortable enough to leave it alone for fear of someone coming along and locking him in, or perhaps building a brick wall in front of the door. 

But this was the worst it had been, and he was not even in a small space. Winslow was currently sitting on the couch, in the living room. The house was not particularly large, but it was certainly not tiny either. It was a big room with a television and a couch and a love chair. Not a room that would typically cause claustrophobia. And besides, every light in the house was on, which should have eased his fear a bit. But outside the wind was howling and rain was falling and electricity sparked in the air, and Winslow felt horrifically trapped, even in the big room with the lights on. And he was only making the situation worse for himself, he knew, by closing in on himself as much as he was. His knees were pressed to the voice box on his chest and he hugged them tight. His head was pressed to the top of them. He was curled up, completely closed in, and the tight space he had created only made him feel worse, more nauseous and paranoid and stuck, but he could not find it in himself to let go. 

“Some storm, mm?” 

Winslow did not look up when he heard the voice. He knew who it was and he did not feel like moving, was not even sure if he would be capable of moving. The sound of footsteps coming near him did not manage to get him to move either. When he felt the couch sink a bit as the other person sat down a ways away from him he slowly opened his eye, but a sudden flash of lightning immediately made him rethink this, and he instantly shut his eye again and closed in on himself even more, hugging himself tightly. 

For a moment there was silence, and Winslow almost forgot that there was someone sitting next to him. Then, he heard a voice say, “Are you alright, babydoll?” 

Winslow very hesitantly opened his eye once again and saw Beef sitting beside him. He was wearing soft, fuzzy, hot pink pajamas and his hair was in pastel pink curlers. There was a little sun painted on his cheek (earlier that day he had insisted that it might stop the storm from coming). He was smiling just a little, Winslow noted, and his goofy appearance coupled with that smile helped ease Winslow’s nerves just a bit, just enough that his grip on his own legs loosened ever so slightly. And besides, with Beef in here too, he felt just a little less trapped. 

“I’m okay,” Winslow mumbled, and even after all of this time his robotic voice felt unnatural in his ears, almost surprised him to hear leave his mouth. 

Beef reached out to place a hand on Winslow’s shoulder, causing Winslow to twitch in surprise. “You seem stressed out, hon.” Beef said gently. Beef’s speaking voice betrayed the deep, rough voice he used when he sang. It tended to be softer and lighter and gentler, doubly when talking to Winslow. 

Again, Winslow insisted, “I’m okay.” He almost believed it, distracted from his previous thoughts by Beef’s arrival, when thunder boomed again and he instinctively gripped tight to himself and shut his eye, sucking in a sharp breath. His nails beneath his leather gloves dug tight into his knees and he clung to himself, eye closed as he listened once more to the storm. He rocked a bit, back and forth, until he felt Beef’s hand tighten on his shoulder. 

“You don’t look okay,” Beef argued, his voice leaving the loving coo it had been in and now shifting to a tone more urgent. “What’s the matter?” 

Winslow forced himself to open his eye again. He watched Beef with his one good eye; he could tell Beef was worried about him but he could not think of what to say to explain himself. The truth was, the sight of thunder flashing and the feel of rain against him and the sound of thunder brought Winslow back to one particularly horrific night. A night he did not have the strength to tell Beef about. 

“Beef, I promise, I’m just-” 

All at once, Winslow was completely engulfed in darkness. 

Absolute, pitch blackness. 

Winslow froze, looking around slowly. The entire room was completely black. No lights were on. He could not see Beef. He could not even see his own knees which he still clung to. Winslow’s breathing grew quick and panicky and he looked around more desperately now. “Beef?” he cried out, and the light of his voice box briefly illuminated the room just enough that he could see the silhouette of Beef sitting beside him. Part of him wanted to move to him, to grab to him and hold on tightly until the storm had stopped and the lights were back. 

A flash of lightning outside lit up the living room and Winslow let out a loud cry of surprise that sounded monstrous and horrible through his metal voice box. His nails dug into his legs again and he buried his face against his knees, his body tense and tight. 

Then he felt Beef’s other hand join the first where it rested on Winslow’s shoulder. Beef gently took hold of Winslow’s arm and tugged him, and Winslow, who was trembling and scared and completely focused on folding in on himself as much as possible, was easily pulled over until he fell against Beef’s chest. Beef promptly wrapped his arms tight around him, and Winslow shifted and squirmed until he was facing away from Beef and his back was pressed against his chest so that he would not feel trapped against him. Winslow’s breathing was still shallow and his heart was still pounding as he sat against his boyfriend and looked around the dark, dark room 

“Power outage,” Beef murmured, voice quiet. Winslow knew that Beef could feel the way he was trembling, and after the shriek of terror he’d let out a moment ago there was no use trying to insist that he was okay anymore. 

“I don’t like this,” Winslow said softly. The way his box lit up red and blue when he spoke, bathing the room in brief bursts of red and blue light that were not unlike the way the lightning outside lit up the room in white, made him shiver a little. He knew that Beef felt him shiver and he swallowed nervously. 

Beef sighed and squeezed Winslow, which made Winslow squirm with discomfort. He did not want to be squeezed right now. Sitting against Beef he could handle; he liked the closeness and the sense that he was not alone in the dark. But the moment he started to feel even the slightest bit trapped he no longer felt safe at all. At least now his eye was beginning to adjust, and he could make out the shadows of the living room furniture. 

A roar of thunder that made the walls tremble caused Winslow to tense up once more. Beef, who noticed this response, said carefully, “Why don’t we get ready for bed, darling?” 

“It’s too dark,” Winslow breathed. 

Beef shook his head and stood up, leaving Winslow alone on the couch. Panicky, Winslow reached out and grabbed the end of Beef’s pajama shirt. Beef chuckled, and in the dark Winslow could see him turn to look at him. “I’m not going to leave you, pumpkin,” he assured Winslow, and he took hold of his wrist to tug him up onto his feet. In other situations the abundance of nicknames would have at the very least seemed goofy, but Winslow appreciated them now, the very sincere, despite being a bit over the top, verbal affection comforting to him. He had been so alone in the dark before, trapped doing nothing but writing for Swan. Winslow looked around the dark living room, breathing shallow still, as Beef said, “Come on, you keep candles in the study.” 

Although Beef and Winslow shared a bedroom, Winslow’s real room was the study. Crumpled up paper was scattered everywhere here - it was impossible not to step on. Notebooks lay piled in stacks and the piano in the corner of the room was covered completely in music books and music paper. At least half of Winslow’s life seemed be to be spent in here nowadays, writing and playing music. It helped him; it gave him something to think about and a way to occupy his time, and it was something familiar and comforting to him. 

But in the darkness, as rain pounded on the roof and thunder boomed outside, even the comfort of his own study, the most comforting and safest place in the world, felt warped and dark and twisted. He stepped onto a piece of crumpled paper and the crunching sound that followed made him jump. When Beef’s hand left his wrist and he took a few steps deeper into the room, toward the closet on the other side, Winslow’s froze, eye going wide, wanting to say something, to tell Beef to come back and stay beside him. 

“Are they in here?” Beef called. 

“What?” Winslow jumped as his voice box lit the room with blue and red. 

“The candles, are they in the closet?” 

“Oh, er, yeah, in a box in the back.” 

Winslow took comfort in candles, even during the daytime. They had been, for a short while, one of his only sources of light. In the otherwise dark room of the Paradise - at least, at night, when the power in the Paradise was shut off and he was left entirely alone in the dark to do nothing but Swan’s bidding - he had been trapped in, it was candlelight that had provided him enough vision to finish his cantata. Phoenix’s cantata. He liked to keep them lit beside him while he wrote. 

Now, Beef was in the closet rummaging through Winslow’s things, until he emerged once more with a cardboard box. “Follow me to the bedroom,” Beef said, voice quiet. As he walked past Winslow he reached out to place a hand on his shoulder briefly, a reassuring gesture that almost started to ease Winslow’s nerves. Winslow did as told and followed, staying close behind Beef and resisting the urge to grab onto the back of his pajamas and cling to him. 

The bedroom was just down the hall. As they entered, Beef set the box down on the bed and opened it up. Inside was a box of matches and a large array of candles, and after going through them in the darkness he finally lit one, then two, then three, and set all of them down on the bedside table. 

It was the first steady light they had had since the power had gone off, and Winslow let out a soft sigh of relief. It was not bright, but it was enough light that he could see Beef standing by the bed with a triumphant, perhaps a bit smug look on his face, and he could see his own hands, and he could see the piles of clothes and magazines that lay on the floor (despite sharing the room, this was undeniably Beef’s domain, just as the study was Winslow’s). 

“That better, babe?” Beef asked, and he set the box down on the carpet before sitting down on the bed and making a beckoning motion. Winslow walked to the bed and sat down next to Beef. Closer to the candlelight, he could see Beef and himself clearly now, could make out the pink of Beef’s curlers and the red of his own cape. He sighed again, his heart starting to return to a normal rhythm. Beef reached out to wrap an arm around him and tugged him closer. “The storm really disturbed you, hm?” 

Winslow didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked around. There was a flash of lightning outside but the curtain was drawn and it was dim and barely noticeable, especially as it was to the right of him and he was completely blind on that side. He pressed his head against Beef’s shoulder, but the metal of the mask dug uncomfortably into his skin and he lifted his head. “Last time I was in a storm like this, um… I…” he paused, hesitating, “...Phoenix went home with Swan.” That wasn’t what he was going to say. 

Luckily, Beef either did not notice his quick change or was not going to pry. Instead, he said, “Well, it should all be over by morning.” He squeezed Winslow’s shoulders and stood up. “I’m getting you pajamas.” 

“I don’t need to change.” Winslow insisted awkwardly. He felt uncomfortable changing, even by himself. He did not like being exposed and he did not like taking his leather suit off. He wore pajamas sometimes, and changed into casual clothing when he absolutely had to take his suit off to clean it, but he changed back as quickly as he could and it was not preferred. Tonight of all nights, pajamas felt like more of a chore than a comfort. 

“You should, sugar cookie.” Beef insisted, and he walked to the dresser - there was only one, and ninety percent of the clothing in it was Beef’s - and rummaged until he found a pair of his own pajamas. Silky purple ones with little stars and moons on them. They would fit Winslow weirdly, he knew, for Winslow was both taller and thinner than himself, but he supposed it would do. Beef handed the pajamas to Winslow, who made a face. 

“I don’t need to wear these. I can sleep in my suit.” 

“I know you can. But why don’t you change anyway? You can keep the mask on,” Beef smiled a little as he sat back down on the bed. 

Winslow hesitated a little, watching Beef and then glancing to the flames on the bedside table. The rain was still pouring hard on the roof and the tapping of it echoed throughout the house. Winslow was tired, the fear and anxiety and panic he had dealt with all night was beginning to be replaced by a sort of exhausted defeat, and he did like the idea of sleeping in silky pajamas over tight leather and buttons and belts. 

Slowly, Winslow stood up and walked to a corner of the room. He did not ask Beef to look away but hoped it would be obvious by his attempt to become invisible in the darkness of the room that he wanted privacy. Typically he would have gone to the bathroom to change, but not tonight, when just the _idea_ of being alone in a tiny room in the dark was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. He was quick to undress, fumbling with his buttons in the dark and trying to rid himself of his leather suit and cape as quick as possible. With hesitation he also removed his voice box, setting it down gently on the pile of clothes. The pajamas were loose and soft and smooth and easily slipped over his helmet, which he was grateful for, but they were just a bit too small and the bottom of the shirt did not reach to the top of the pants, exposing just a bit of his middle. 

Winslow turned around to face Beef now. He turned his head a little to get the best look at him he could with just one eye, and Beef smiled. “You look cute,” he said, and he patted the bed beside him to encourage Winslow to come sit next to him once more. Winslow nervously did as directed, feeling very exposed now. Not just because of the pajamas, which were a thousand times lighter and looser than the tight leather that normally covered every inch of him. There was also the fact that his voice box was gone and he could not speak. 

Winslow let out a little squeak of surprise when Beef reached over to take hold of his hands. “You wear gloves so often,” Beef said. Winslow nodded awkwardly in agreement, the feeling of his bare hands against Beef’s a foreign one. When Beef pulled Winslow’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, Winslow felt his cheeks warm up and he looked away. Beef chuckled. “You don’t show your tummy ever, either. Or your feet, or your neck.” As Beef said that last word he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on the side of Winslow’s neck, causing a shiver to run down Winslow’s spine. 

As Beef pulled away Winslow turned to look at him. He could not speak and did not want to bother trying - the sound that would leave his mouth was horrible and he was terrified of upsetting Beef by making it. 

“Are you alright?” Beef asked carefully, seeming to wonder if perhaps Winslow’s turning to look at him was an attempt to tell Beef that he was uncomfortable. Winslow gave a little nod and looked away again, and Beef reached a hand out, then withdrew it. He opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. He remained still for a moment, lost in thought, attempting to find words for something he knew very well was a sensitive subject. “Winslow,” he said finally, and he realized his tone came out much too serious for Winslow turned immediately and stared at him with what looked like worry. “Winslow, you- you don’t have to take your mask off, babe. But… if you… if you’re worried about me, about what I’d think… you don’t have to. Worry, I mean.” 

Winslow looked away again when he realized where Beef was going with this. He wished he could speak now, and he considered briefly getting up to grab his voice box and talk to him, but the thought of hearing his own words come out synthesized and electric was almost as bad as not being able to talk at all. So instead, he simply looked up at Beef and pointed to him, as if to say, _But you’re everything, and you always look amazing, and you care so much about appearance and beauty and style, and if you saw me without my mask you would think I was a monster._ But he knew none of that was conveyed in the simple gesture. 

Beef kept trying. “You think I don’t feel insecure sometimes too?” he asked. Winslow wondered if perhaps he had somewhat caught on, and his eyebrows rose with surprise under his mask. “Do you think growing up a gay boy with a lisp is a walk in the park?” He let out a little huff and looked at his feet, and Winslow was surprised to see Beef so lost and trying so hard to figure out what to say. “I know it might not be a comparison and all, but just, um… know that it’s okay, to be… worried. And I won’t hate you.” 

Winslow was at a loss for words, so he supposed not being able to talk was perhaps a good thing right now. He thought for a moment, trying to understand what Beef was saying. Winslow hadn’t given Beef’s lisp much thought before; he had very quickly brushed it off as simply the way he spoke, be it intentional or something he could not control. And Beef was right - it was not a completely fair comparison. But he understood the attempt Beef was making, the attempt to connect to him and acknowledge his insecurities and fears. And Winslow appreciated that. 

Winslow stood up. He watched Beef from his one good eye as he did so, watching for any sort of response, but Beef did not say a word. Winslow took a step away from the bed, turned so that his back was facing it, and glanced to the candles that continued to burn on the bedside table. He was safe here, even with the rain, he forced himself to think. He was safe with Beef, he was safe and away from Swan and locked doors and record presses. 

Winslow very carefully pulled his helmet off and set it down on the top of the dresser. He heard the little breath that left Beef and tried his best not to think about it. For a moment, he considered not turning around, and for another moment after that he considered very quickly putting the helmet and mask back on and acting like this had never happened. 

But with a deep breath Winslow forced himself to turn back around and face Beef. 

Winslow knew he looked hideous. The darkness and the candlelight must have exaggerated his features too, he was sure of it. The skin on the right side of his face was red and swollen and mangled practically beyond recognition. He could not use his eye, could not even blink let alone see a thing from it, and he was certain the way it bulged out of his face was disgusting and terrifying. 

Beef’s expression was blank, and Winslow closed his eye, waiting for the worst. 

“You’re _fine,_ Winslow! You look fine.” 

Winslow opened his eye. Beef was smiling a little, and Winslow felt relief rush through his veins, but he forced himself to not yet relax. It was too early to know what Beef thought yet. 

“I didn’t know your hair was that long.” Beef said now. Winslow reached up to run a hand through his own hair. It was long and flowy and the tips of it just touched his shoulders. In all the months they had been dating, Beef had not seen it before. He motioned for Winslow to return to him once more. Very, very slowly, Winslow walked back to Beef and sat beside him. He felt naked, completely exposed and vulnerable, and he turned away a bit. 

Beef took hold of Winslow’s hands again and squeezed them. “I get to see what you actually look like.” he said with a giggle. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of Winslow’s mouth. Winslow turned to face him fully, only to have a kiss planted right on his lips. Beef giggled against them. “And our noses touch when I kiss you!” 

Winslow’s face warmed at that, and he realized with embarrassment Beef would actually be able to see the flush in his cheeks. Beef leaned in to kiss him again, and this time as he pressed his mouth to Winslow’s he reached up to run a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing through the long, soft strands and making Winslow shiver. The sensation of having his hair touched was completely new to Winslow and left him feeling breathless. Beef nibbled gently on Winslow’s lower lip, earning a little whimper from Winslow, before he pulled away. But he kept his hand in his hair, gently running his fingers through it as he watched Winslow’s face. 

Winslow closed his eye, embarrassed by the attention he was getting, a little overwhelmed by it but grateful for it all the same. The way Beef was petting his hair was relaxing, it was calming and gentle and it helped him ignore the sound of rain and thunder outside. He took in a few deep breaths, and with his eye closed he did not see Beef lean in to kiss his neck again, earning Beef a shiver of surprise. 

“Alright?” Beef asked softly. Winslow nodded a little, grateful Beef was not looking at his face anymore and liking the feeling of his mouth on his neck. Beef kissed Winslow’s neck again and this time gently sunk his teeth in to suck at the flesh for a moment, which prompted Winslow to squeak and shiver. Beef drew back again. “Alright?” he repeated, and Winslow again gave a little nod. 

Beef nodded in return and leaned in to kiss Winslow’s neck once more before he moved down suddenly, right to the tiny bit of exposed skin between where his shirt ended and his pants began. Despite Winslow’s slightly wider range of vision now that he lacked his mask, he still instinctively turned his head awkwardly to get a good look at what Beef was doing. He remembered earlier the nervousness he had felt about his belly being exposed. Now, most of that nervousness had disappeared. 

Beef pressed a kiss on the side of Winslow’s tummy, and Winslow twitched a little in surprise. Beef glanced up, and when his eyes met Winslow’s, Winslow looked away with embarrassment. Beef carefully lifted Winslow’s shirt up to kiss his belly again, and Winslow almost tried to say something about being ticklish but remembered his inability to speak. Beef gently squeezed the side of Winslow’s belly as he kissed it again, and Winslow twitched a second time and whimpered a little. This was enough of a reaction that once again Beef looked up. “Still okay?” he asked. 

Winslow nodded. Beef responded by nipping lightly at the side of his tummy, and Winslow’s reaction was a gurgling growl of a noise that would have been a whine if his vocal chords were intact. Beef spent a few more moments on Winslow’s belly, moving up a bit to kiss all over his lower chest and then returning to kiss his sides and ribs and belly once more. Winslow was shivery and breathless and the rain hitting the rooftop was nearly forgotten. 

That is, until Beef moved just a bit lower, and Winslow felt him tug at his pajama bottoms. All of a sudden Winslow sat up and quickly shook his head, and Beef responded immediately by sitting up as well. “No?” 

Winslow shook his head again. No, no, he wasn’t ready for that, no. Already, he had pushed his own boundaries tonight, forced himself to go out of his comfort zone. He was not ready for anything else. 

Beef smiled and nodded, and leaned in to kiss Winslow’s nose. “Another time, then,” he said. He kissed the side of Winslow’s face - his good side, the side that wasn’t burned - and then lay down. He took hold of Winslow’s arm and tugged him a bit, trying to tell him to do the same. Winslow took a moment to relax after his momentary panic, slowly realizing that Beef was not going to expect or demand more of him than he was willing to give at the moment, and lay down beside him. 

Beef and Winslow lay in silence now, facing each other on the bed. Winslow, exhausted and wanting to sleep and get this night and this horrible storm over with finally, shut his eye, trying to drift off, but after a moment he opened it once more and found Beef was staring at him. Beef looked sleepy too, his eyes half lidded and a tired smile on his face, but Winslow still felt his face warm up and, embarrassed, rolled onto his other side. 

Beef moved up a bit until his chest was against Winslow’s back. He wrapped an arm around him, tugging him close. “Are you feeling alright, love bird?” 

Winslow closed his eye again and nodded sleepily, more comfortable in this position, liking the feeling of being held while comforted by the fact that he would not be stared at. Beef ran a hand through Winslow’s hair and hummed a tune, a little song Winslow did not recognize. As Winslow began to fall asleep he felt, to his slight surprise, a great sense of pride and relief fill his chest. 

There were some times, times when he was hugging his own knees and rocking back and forth and trembling and unable to move and stuck remembering horrible things, where recovering felt impossible. A distant, unattainable goal he would never reach. 

But there were other times, Winslow thought, such as when he was safe in bed, mask off and boyfriend holding him and candles illuminating the both of them as they lay together and the rain fell, forgotten, outside, that it felt just a little more achievable. 

-end

**Author's Note:**

> Hoooo boy this is... this is the most self indulgent thing I've ever written I think.... I really... just wanted to write about these two and I have soooo many more fic ideas I really really wanna do for 'em if I can but I wanted to start with this one because recovering from abuse is a really personal topic to me that I wanted to write about with these two.... I'm dead tired I'm writing this at 1:45 AM after staying up for hours finishing this thing up so I'll be brief, I really hope you enjoy & if you liked it I'd love it if you left a review!!


End file.
